


My Descent

by bookish_cupcake



Series: Hel of The Forgotten [1]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9392393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookish_cupcake/pseuds/bookish_cupcake
Summary: i. my descentii. those left behindiii. Garmr, my houndiv. forgivenessv. message in a bottlevi. the gatesvii. three wise hags





	1. Chapter 1

Father…? Grandfather…? Uncle…?

Everything is so, so dark. This place, my new home, is cold. My flesh, the half that is not black, is coated in goosebumps. This dreary domain smells of sulfur and rotten fruit. Do you remember Idunn’s apples, Father? You would take me to her garden at night when she slept. We would pluck them and gorge ourselves. I do not think I can plant a garden in my new home.

I should be frightened. I should be shaking. I will not give into fear, Father.

Helheim is my domain in Niflheim.

My subjects will love me, and the gods will fear me. Can you hear me, Father?

I will make Odin fear me. 


	2. Chapter 2

# Those Left Behind

The people here starve. Little food exists in Helheim, and I cannot leave. If I could, Niflheim’s frozen wastelands offer little comfort.

Those who die combat are those deemed worthy achieve Odin’s Valhalla or Freyja's Fólkvangr—ready to fight in Ragnarök. Those people die fighting to serve in another war. A war you are all so sure of, my dear grandfather, that you recruit the dead.

My dead are the unwanted leftovers. We are the weary, the forgotten. Those who have died of sickness; of old age; of disgrace. My dead cannot fight in your war, grandfather.

But we can gather in strength. It will take time. Centuries. Eons, perhaps.

You will regret sending me here. You will regret my title. I am Hel, Goddess of Death, and I will be your undoing.


	3. Chapter 3

>   
>  **Do you have anyone, other than the dead, to keep you company?**   
>    
>  **Anonymous whispered,**

* * *

 

In the beginning, the dead feared me. But I have always been able to rely on this one being.

When I first pulled myself from the wretched river, and staggered to the gates, I heard a growl. A fearsome puppy glared up at me. At once, I was struck with memory of my brother Fenrir. Neverminding the bites and snarls, I scooped him up and took him with me to my new home.

I dubbed him Garmr.

I have watched him grow over the many years, and he has remained a good companion. 


	4. Chapter 4

>   
>  **Will you ever forgive your dad?**
> 
> **Anonymous whispered,**

 

* * *

 

My father is the King Liar of all Tricksters. He is Wind that guides Chaos. He stood and watched as Odin cast Jormungand to Midgard’s ocean, as Odin sent Fenrir to be chained, as Odin threw me upon this wasteland. How am I to forgive a father who abandons his own kin? 

When I have use for my father, I will let the past slide. He is not the only one of our blood to be clever. 

In truth, with him doing nothing I have become the Goddess of Death. 

If I know my siblings, we will strike back at the gods. We will create chaos the gods’ den. 

I wonder, did Loki the God of Chaos know this?


	5. Chapter 5

# Message in a Bottle

After completing my duties as ruler, I convened with two of my plotters. The padding of Garmr’s paws echoed along my footsteps as we traveled through the dreary halls. He has grown slightly since I first found him a few centuries ago, now a bit below my knees.

I entered the library and greeted my manservant Ganglati and maidservant Ganglot. We took seat at a round table, and Garmr curled around my feet.

“We cannot cross river, and the mountains stretch further than we know,” spoke Ganglati.

“No dead can recross the bridge,” spoke Ganglot.

“Thank you for stating what we already know,” I snipped. I sighed and rolled my eyes. “What about sending objects down the river?”

“Niflheim is icy wasteland. Not exactly hospitable,” reminded Ganglot.

“Tis our best option,” spoke Ganglati, “presently speaking.”

They prepared a bottle, and I placed a spell on it to endure the Niflheim’s frozen hell. I wrote a simple note. That night, we watched the river carry it away.

The next morning, we received our reply.

((Ganglot and Ganglati are Hel’s servants in the myths. I wish I could find more about them.)) 


	6. Chapter 6

# The Gates

Ganglot came running into the throne room in dismay. I ordered her to calm her breath before she relayed the morning events.

“Tis the All-Father! Tis the All-Father! He is at the foot of the bridge!”

Grandfather?  

I quickly ran to the boundaries of my prison. The dwarfs Bari and Durin were at his heels. His expression, sour and stern, did not bode well.

“Heimdell has seen you try to escape.”

“As all prisoners hope to accomplish.”

If were to be the prisoner, than Odin is my warden.

The dwarfs built the walls and the gate to further restrict me in. They toiled on their work until the moons came up. I screamed and shouted and cursed. I promised a blight in their realms and disease on their family.

The routine continued for a week.

They left in silence.

I slumped on the bridge, watching the retreating form of my grandfather. I brought my knees closer and wished I left with my father. 


	7. Chapter 7

# Three Wise Hags

(Longer than normal and don’t want to take up someone’s dash)

I curl up in a tight ball inside the blankets. My knuckles are bloodied and scraped from earlier pounding at the wall encasing her prison. Everything was closing in, suffocating the hope out of her. The windows are open. A gust of cool wind blowing through, snuffing out the candles. Shadows settle in, making home. 

I tuck my head between her knees, trying to calm my mind. 

Why? Why? Why?

Why was I born to carry death’s curse? Why caste out of my home? Why trapped here to watch over the dead?

I refuse to cry.

When I was little, I snuck out of my room at night. I ventured to the deep roots of Yggdrasil, scaling down the curling roots til I reached into the well. I was pulled to the other side.

The three hags who oversaw the fate of the gods met with me. Urd of what was; Verdandi of what is; Skuld of what will.

“O sweet deathly child,” cooed Verdandi.

“We were expecting you,” informed Skuld. “Tell us what we need.”

Wind whispered around me in the darkness. I stared at Urd in the back, shrouded in darkness. Urd of what was; Urd of the past; Urd who knows.

“The older servants say my brothers and I will end the gods. Is this true?” I asked. 

“That is a question for Skuld,” answered Urd.

“The servants say it has happened before,” I said.

Verdandi sighed, and Skuld looked the other way.

“Leave us, sisters.” The younger sisters dissolved into water, splattering on the ground. Urd ran her gnarled fingers through my raven curls. “This is the third cycle of the world, and my first time seeing you as a child.”

“Third cycle?”

“Yes, deathly child. The threads of fate weave into a pattern, repeating itself with each new birth of the world.”

“Then they were correct. My kin _are_ destined to end this world.”

“Ah, but they forgot to mention something. In the final cycle, those who die in Ragnarok will spend the rest of eternity in your realm.”

“My realm? I do not have a realm.”

The reality of the world burst, and I lifted my head out of the well.

As a kid, an innocent cursed child, I didn’t want to believe I would bring upon Ragnarok.

When I fell to this place, I thought back on the Urd’s words. Why not? The gods think I am to end them, why not live up to it? Why not make them fear me?

Now, as I get out of my bed, I am resolute. 


End file.
